


i was made for loving you

by peppermintcas



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-18
Updated: 2016-01-18
Packaged: 2018-05-14 13:53:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5746267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peppermintcas/pseuds/peppermintcas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They’re three pages deep in the glossary of an organic chemistry textbook, the last day before Ransom’s exam, and he’s keyed up enough that he’s come all the way around the other side and has begun what Holster calls the Cuddling Phase.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i was made for loving you

“Diversity oriented synthesis,” Holster reads out loud.

“Synthesis of many structurally related compounds,” Ransom rattles off, like fucking clockwork, “at the same time, used in drug discovery, also called combinatorial synthesis.”

They’re three pages deep in the glossary of an organic chemistry textbook, the last day before Ransom’s exam, and he’s keyed up enough that he’s come all the way around the other side and has begun what Holster calls the Cuddling Phase. It’s only with Holster, and Ransom can usually only take so much before he’s back under a table and downing four cups of espresso, but Holster takes what he can get. They’re sprawled out on the bottom bunk, Ransom’s head pillowed in Holster’s lap with his eyes closed and his fingers knotted over his chest.

“Diyne,” Holster says.

“Any compound containing two alkynes,” Ransom says. He sketches out something in the air with his hands, slow and lazy, his eyes still closed. He yawns. “It’s got alternating single and triple bonds ‘cause it’s a polyyne.”

Holster turns the page, scans down the items; hums, considering. “Double bond equivalent,” he says.

“The number of molecules of hydrogen gas that would have to be—” Ransom yawns again, wide and unabashed. “That would have to be added to a molecule to convert all pi bonds to single bonds, and all rings to acyclic structures. There’s a formula. C minus parentheses H divided by two end parentheses plus parentheses N divided by two end parentheses plus one…equals…” He trails off into silence.

“Doublet,” Holster says. When he doesn’t get an answer, he peers down at Ransom. He’s asleep, apparently, his mouth not quite closed and his hands half curled on his chest, stilled partway through writing an equation only he could see. It’s not— _adorable_ , really, because Ransom’s six foot two and over two hundred pounds, but it’s a little cute, okay, and it’s gratifying to see Ransom finally unconscious and snoozing after so many days of sleeplessness and stress. Holster gently tries to ease Ransom onto a pillow; he clings, turning over and wrapping his arms around one of Holster’s legs, so he gives up on that and just—slides down, carefully unwrapping Ransom’s arms from his leg, manages to arrange them both so that they’re sprawled horizontally on the bed, one of Ransom’s arms thrown across his waist, his face buried in the curve of Holster’s neck, curled into his side like a cat.

Holster eases the textbook onto the floor, wincing at the thud. “Shhh,” he whispers, when Ransom grumbles a little and shifts. There’s not much room on the bunk—it wasn’t made for two bulky ass hockey players, that’s for sure—but they've made it work for well into a year, and he tugs the blankets over them both, takes off his glasses and turns off the lamp. And maybe he laces his fingers with Ransom’s right before he drops off into sleep, but it’s cold in the attic, and his fingers are freezing. He’s not that much of a sap.

\--

He wakes up in the morning with the faint feeling of sunlight washing over him, the covers half tugged off his back and warmth, all along his chest, slotted right up against his body. It’s so comfortable, his legs tangled with someone else’s, someone’s head tucked against his collarbone, and his mind registers  _familiarity_ and  _safety_ and  _home_  long before he remembers who’s snuggled up against him. 

“Rans,” he whispers.

There’s a grumble, vibrating against his chest, and then Ransom unfolds from where he’s tangled up against Holster. “Time’s it,” he says, raspy.

Holster, well versed in just-woken-up Ransom, twists to check the clock. “Eight,” he says. “Your exam’s at ten, right? You’ve got a little time.”

“Mmm,” Ransom mumbles, his eyes slipping closed again. For a little while they drift, lost in the warmth and the sun, and then Ransom is tipping his chin up and saying, sleepily, “Hey, Holtzy,” and Holster looks down at him, and Rans is all loose limbs and warm smiles and he says, softly, “Thanks,” and Holster leans down, kisses him on the forehead. 

"Anytime," he promises, and nudges at Ransom's nose with his, and then Ransom huffs and puts a hand on the back of his neck and then they're kissing.

They’re in sync, just like they are on the ice, just like always: Holster rests his hand on Ransom’s shoulder and shifts down on the bed so he’s level with Ransom, Ransom slides his hand under Holster’s shirt to rest it on his waist. It’s lazy and slow and sweet and  _good_ , so damn good, pleasantly fuzzy like everything is in the morning, and they make out like that for a while until Ransom pulls away with a spark of test mania back in his eye.

“I need—coffee,” he says. “And studying. I need to study.”

Holster rubs slow circles over his shoulder with his hand, kisses him one last time before letting him go. “Alright,” he says, agreeably, and stretches his arms over his head as Ransom sits up. 

From the way he eyes him, Ransom knows exactly what he’s doing. “Fuck you, man,” Ransom says, and slings a leg over Holster’s waist, leans over him and presses him back into the mattress until Holster is laughing, tugging at the collar of Ransom’s shirt in a futile attempt to pull him down into a kiss.  “Is this a kink for you?” he asks, flicking a glance towards the way Ransom’s bracketed him in with his arms, looming over him, and Ransom tells him again, affectionate, “Fuck you,” and leans down and kisses him breathless.

 

 

  


End file.
